


under the knife

by yasgorl



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 03:32:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4463870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yasgorl/pseuds/yasgorl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott’s patience sometimes feels like a bottomless well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	under the knife

Sheriff Stilinksi hands Liam a soft fleece blanket and keeps his eyes determinedly fixed to a point around Liam’s forehead until he has it wrapped and secured around his waist.

“Son,” he starts, exhaling a world weary sigh. The rest of his sentence lost as Stiles appears on the scene. His arrival is immediate and expansive, nervous energy an almost palpable presence.

“I thought you said you had it under control, Liam. Do you know how much shit we could get for this?”

Liam clenches his jaw and watches as Sheriff Stilinski retreats to his patrol car. Stile’s jeep is a blue smudge in the far distance. He’s clutching the ragged remains of Liam’s shirt which Liam doesn’t remember discarding, or where. Everything from late evening onwards is a blur of vague sense memory colored by fear and anger and impulse.

“Do you ever sleep?” Liam snaps. A shiver racks through him in the pre-dawn air. He wants to ask for his shirt back. He folds his arms across his chest instead and scans the area behind Stiles’ outreached, offended arm stance restlessly. Red and blue lights paint the dark where forest meets paved road. Every house on the street lies dark and dormant save for the occasional safety light and the evenly spaced streetlights lining the road. Whoever called in the half-transformed, fully naked sight of him isn’t showing their face. Good. Liam kind of wants to pretend the whole thing isn’t happening, right now, or ever.

“Scott nearby?” Stiles asks.

If Liam had the sort of control he was supposed to have right now he’d probably have a sure answer. Honing in on Scott when he’s in a state of agitation, nudity, and the red edges of a rage fit is a little like trying to catch random stations on a bad radio. His hearing reaches out and curls back in fitfully. Just his luck. It won’t shut off when he needs it to and its useless when he does.

After a beat in which Liam fails to respond Stiles reaches for the phone in his back pocket with a narrowly concealed eyeroll.

“Whatever,” he mutters, thumbs tapping at the screen.

The sheriff’s lights turn off somewhere behind him and the engine quietly turns over.

“You know what to do, Stiles. Get him home. Key’s under the mat if you didn’t bring it with you.”

“Yeah, dad,” Stiles answers back, moving to Liam’s side. He pokes Liam in the ribs with his elbow.

“Uh, thanks Mr. Stilinski. And I’m sorry about the trouble.” Liam says.

“You take care. Tell Scott I’ll see him in the morning.”

*

A citation or a night spent at the station would probably be a better fate than the weight of Scott’s disappointment.

“I’m sorry,” Liam mumbles.

He keeps his eyes downturned and fidgets in the passenger seat of Stiles’ Jeep. Scott’s hair is sleep rumpled and he’s wearing a black Henley and jeans that look like they were the first things in reach at four in the morning. He still manages to look effortlessly handsome and inviting.

Scott’s fingers curl over the rolled down window. Liam has the sudden urge to press his cheek down. A series of mental images like frames from a still movie unfolding in his mind; Scott’s hand coming around to cup Liam’s jaw, his thumb pressing at the high point of Liam’s cheekbone. He wants to close his eyes and have Scott kiss him and never lose his shit over the oncoming full moon again.

“It’s fine, it happens,” Scott says.

Liam’s eyes snap upwards.

“Are you okay?”

Scott's voice is heavy and deeper than usual, rough with a night’s disuse, weighted with concern. Liam swallows around the ball of anxiety climbing its way up his throat. He nods.

“Hey,” Stiles leans over from the driver’s side, “This warrants a burrito bowl at least or something. Tomorrow. How about you surprise me? You know, extra points for overtime.”

“Sure,” Scott says with an easy smile. He steps back so Liam has space to open the door and hop out, still clutching the blanket around his hips. Stiles balls up the remains of Liam’s shirt and launches it out the window.

“Cool, a side of guac for mine. And you, no more funny business tonight.”

Liam bares his teeth in answer.

*

“I don’t think there’s a set length of recovery time for anyone, you know?”

Scott picks through the contents of his dresser while Liam waits by the bathroom door. He tosses a pair of sleep pants Liam’s way then closes a drawer and opens the next one down.

“It’s not like there’s a manual for this and I didn’t get the most standard education. If there is one. This okay?”

He holds up a t-shirt with a faded band logo on the front. Liam shrugs. It joins the pants he has grasped in one hand lighting fast.

He retreats to the bathroom to change and tries to stifle the ever present force of his frustration. Scott’s patience sometimes feels like a bottomless well. Liam isn’t sure he’s ever earned the right to access.

The mattress shifts quietly under Scott’s weight beyond the closed door. Liam’s mind nettles at the thought of his failure being one more thing keeping Scott awake at night.

He emerges to the click of the AC turning on, an omnipresent hum filling the air. Near Scott, with the panic of his transformation warded off, Liam’s nervous energy settles like a lake after a summer storm. When he thinks about it too hard he panics a little with embarrassment but it’s Scott’s smell too that does it, and it’s strongest here in his bedroom with all his clothes and things, tugging at a primal part of Liam’s werewolf mind, soothing it over. All the other things he does with Scott don’t eat up his waking thoughts anywhere as much as the way Liam’s kind of, _obsessed_ ; like he wants to carry around Scott’s scent and voice and the gentle press of his hand wherever he goes. Most of the time he knows he’s getting weird about it, but other times like now he’s too tired to care.

“Was it a nightmare?”

Scott pulls Liam down to the space he’s left on the bed, Liam’s back to Scott’s chest, an arm hooking around Liam to draw him closer. He spoons Liam like the dictionary definition of the word, a Kodak rendering, like those commercials where the couple sleeps in blissful peace after the husband takes his cough medicine.

“No. I don’t know," Liam says, "I might’ve gotten angry. I don’t remember.”

“Mm.” Scott hooks his knee up slightly so he’s resting some of his weight against Liam, pressing him down against the mattress. It feels solid and grounding. Scott’s voice emerges muffled and sleepy where his lips are an inch from Liam’s neck. 

“We’ll figure it out tomorrow. Sleep for now.”

Liam’s eyes slip shut immediately. He lets a pent up breath out, luxuriating in the dark safety of Scott’s room. He thinks how nice it is having Scott’s strong arm holding him. Then he isn’t thinking anything at all and after a long dark nothing, it’s morning.

*

Over lunch Stiles calls the off campus housing offices of five different universities on the west coast. His free hand is jammed in a battered copy of Macbeth and he takes advantage of the times he’s put on hold to streak half the page in orange highlighter. Scott’s given them both another pep talk about Liam’s shaky grasp on his change. It was soothing in a way and more of the same in others, but mostly Liam wishes they could have done it without Stiles’ comments jabbing through the steady stream of Scott’s voice.

“It’s probably a little early for this level of detail, don’t you think?” Liam asks, trying for nonchalant. The whole subject makes him feel antsy and like he’d rather be anywhere but here, listening in, but he can’t help himself.

Stiles ignores him. He lodges his phone awkwardly between shoulder and ear and points his chin in Scott’s direction.

“Are we okay with subletting? Worst case scenario.”

Scott sips from his iced tea and considers.

“Wouldn’t be the most illegal thing we’ve done.”

Stiles sends him a sly, private grin that seems meant only for the two of them and returns to his call.

“Can you give me a ride after school today?” Liam nudges a chip into the nearly empty container of guac and offers it up to Scott, stilling inside when Scott turns his full attention Liam’s way. He takes the chip from Liam’s hand deftly. Liam tracks the movement of Scott’s hands, the strength belied by delicacy. He stops when his eyes start tracing the path of the veins in the back of Scott’s hands, the way Liam knows they shoot up his forearm.

“Yeah, sure. What happened to your regular thing?”

Liam takes a breath and goes with the bald truth.

“I’m not going home tonight. I wanna stay at your place.”

He can see Stiles making a face out of the corner of his eye but Liam keeps his gaze locked on Scott.

“Okay,” Scott says slowly. He looks at Liam consideringly for a long moment until Liam starts to fidget and Liam tries his best to keep his expression open, eyes wide. Nothing going on here, no internal freakout incoming, everything under control. Scott shrugs and gathers the papers at his elbow. “Okay,” he says again, decided. “I’m turning these in to the front office. See you in Bio, Stiles.”

“Later,” says Stiles around the highlighter now jammed between his teeth. Liam nods. He keeps his eyes on Scott as he walks away, cutting through the loosely milled crowd which parts around him like the Red Sea.

“Insecurity is a terrible look on you, bro,” Stiles says.

“You would know,” Liam shoots back. He sits long enough to hear Stiles start another call before gathering his things and wading through the yard, following the invisible trajectory Scott’s left in his wake.

*

Liam bails after 5th period and walks most of the way home. It’s a desperate attempt to burn off some of the restless energy churning inside him these days with no readily available outlet. They’re still four days off now from the full moon but he can feel the oncoming urge to change grating at him at all times, raising the hair on the back of his neck and making it hard to concentrate on anything else.

He packs a duffle with clean clothes fit for a week. He can borrow from Scott, kinda, if he runs out. He’s only been guaranteed a night but Liam’s sure he can bargain for more. The first couple of changes were marked with violence and fear. The last few Liam feels like he’s practically drowning in a gut driven, primal need for pack. It excites and confuses him at the same time, never mind that Scott’s never denied him proximity nor touch. The wolf inside him doesn’t know, it only feels and reacts, driven by pure instinct.

Liam works himself up just thinking about it, until his hands are shaking as he zips the duffle shut. He texts Scott to let him know he’s at home then sits tailor-style on his bedroom floor, counting breaths in and out until he hears the telltale rumble of Scott’s motorcycle pulling up the drive.

*

Liam wraps his arms around Scott as the road blurs beneath them. He doesn’t wear the helmet Scott offers, just stuffs his face against the broad expanse of Scott’s back and breathes in deep. With his eyes shut he imagines the road straightening out indefinitely, traffic lights disappearing, the horizon hundreds of miles away from Beacon Hills. It would be nice if they never stopped.

When they finally do Liam’s loose limbed and buzzing. Scott gives him a strange smile which Liam returns tenfold, then tugs him up the lawn to the front door.

*

“What’s gonna happen next year, when you have to go to college?”

“Exactly that, I guess. I go to college.”

Scott’s seated at his desk, rifling through a heavy leather bound book split open in his lap. He’s careful with each page he turns. It smells old. From his position on Scott’s bed Liam can tell there are sketches amongst the lines of text, and when he concentrates he thinks he can make out some of the letters, but it’s tilted just so it’s impossible for him to really make anything out.

“I mean, what happens to me?” Liam asks. He swallows awkwardly and tries to quell the urge to move around restlessly waiting for Scott to answer.

“Having you come with us is out of the question,” Scott says gently. He pins Liam with a soft look and Liam stays silent, refusing to agree by acknowledgement. The thought of staying here alone, without a pack, without Scott, fills him with a blank sort of terror.

“Satomi could take you in I guess…” Scott says slowly, like he’s turning the idea over in his head.

Liam’s heart lurches and Scott’s gaze goes sharp.

“Hey. Don’t worry about it for now. We still have a whole year ahead of us.”

Liam’s mouth twists in a parody of a smile and he stuffs his face into the pillow before his expression betrays him further. The pillow and sheets and everything around him smell overwhelmingly, deliciously like Scott. Once he’s sufficiently ignored the urge to argue further the sensory input he’s been too upset to process starts filtering in again and he concentrates on breathing in and out and not thinking of anything at all. He’s drifting when he realizes he’s been swiveling his hips down gently against the mattress and as soon as the thought is cogent in his mind his next is the tactile memory of Scott’s warm, strong back against his chest, the world speeding past beyond them. He’s hard within another minute of idle thought, aimlessly rutting down until he feels the bed dip beside him and Scott’s touch at his side.

“Liam.” Scott’s hand rubs gently between Liam’s shoulders.

“Hmm.”

Scott laughs.

“Hey, buddy. Liam. Need a hand?”

“I dunno. This feels good,” Liam mutters into his pillow. He turns his face towards Scott and cracks open one heavy lidded eye. It’s a little more of a show than he’ll admit, but he wants it and he might not have it for long and Scott is always so ready to accomodate.

“Need some help with that?” Scott asks. He leans down to nose at the back of Liam’s neck. Liam suppresses a shiver just barely. Scott’s hand tugs at his right hip, trying to get him to flip over.

“Let’s see what you got.”

Liam makes a noncommittal sound but turns over eventually, stretching out to put on a little show. He likes the way Scott’s eyes turn appreciative, sliding down the line of his body. It makes him feel present and whole, compact, like Scott’s pressing in all the blurring boundaries of Liam’s body, his fleeing control.

“Got so fuckin built, bro,” Scott says, his gaze roving down Liam’s torso. His big hand squeezes at a thigh, not far from where Liam’s dick is tenting his briefs, getting fat and happy despite the lack of any direct attention.

“Guess it’ll come in handy, now that I’ll have to defend myself all by my lonesome,” Liam says, pouting a little, eyes keen for the line where Scott’s smile will go from happily indulgent to concerned and firm, but it never comes. Liam reaches down with one hand and rubs the line of his dick through his briefs, cups his balls gently through the fabric. He lets out a pent breath that ends in a soft whine. Scott’s eyes flash a sharp red. He grips at Liam’s hips with both hands and leans down to nose at the line where fabric meets skin. Liam can smell his own arousal thick in the air, dick swelling hotter and harder with every stroke of his hand through the fabric. A wet patch appears as Scott noses further at him and Liam’s doubly embarrassed when he feels that ache start up within him, faint and distant now but he knows how fierce it gets, how he can’t come any more or as hard as when he’s got something inside him, pressing just right.

“Let me,” Scott says, and knocks away Liam’s hand. Liam shifts to help Scott tug his briefs off, then spreads his legs as Scott takes over for him. He takes Liam in his mouth deep in one go, startling a soft ah! from Liam, forcing him to bow his back to keep from pumping his hips up. Scott’s mouth is wet and hot but he doesn’t linger, just gets Liam wet enough that the next stroke of his hand is smooth and frictionless.

“I love how wet you get,” Scott says, eyes nailed to his own hand working Liam’s cock. He squeezes on an upstroke and watches as Liam’s dick drools precome out of the slit, dribbling over Scott’s knuckles and wetting the trimmed hair at the base. “Look at that, baby,” Scott whispers. He mouths enthusiastically at the tip while Liam cries out and shudders, kissing and sucking. Delicious tension coils low in Liam’s groin. He spreads his legs even further and grasps at the sheet beneath him, bucking up as gently as he can as Scott squeezes his cock with the most amazing grip. Strong and assured and undeniably Alpha. He’s getting close but not enough, he wants to get there with something else.

“Can you-- _ah_ ”

“What, baby?”

“Can you put your fingers inside me?” Liam asks. He’s panting and his face is probably flushed red. Scott lets Liam’s dick go to rub down beneath his balls with wet fingers, pressing gently at his taint. The pressure’s so good it pushes out an involuntary gasp, then a moan cause he still needs more. “And press up, like you, press up?”

“Yeah, I remember,” Scott says, lazy and low. He rubs at Liam’s flat stomach with his free hand, and continues applying pressure as he leans up to kiss at Liam’s lips. It’s uncoordinated and messy, mostly because Liam can barely concentrate on making it good when his dick’s hot and wet and Scott’s still rubbing his fingers down there, methodically pressing down until he reaches Liam’s hole.

Scott pulls away from the kiss and whispers against Liam’s lips, “Can you come without me inside you?”

It’s such an obvious answer that Liam might have had the wherewithal to brush it aside impatiently at any other time. They both know he can come just jacking himself off like normal but it wouldn’t be as hard or as satisfying as when Scott does it for him, and doubly so when he doesn’t have something inside him, filling up the emptiness and replacing it with overwhelming pleasure. He doesn’t want to think about it too hard, or think about anything at all. He wants Scott to wipe his mind off the map for a few precious moments. Where he isn’t a bottled fizzing bottle of rage or barely tethered control. Where he isn’t anything at all.

He clutches at Scott’s shoulders in a silent plea. “Nnn--yes but I don’t want to,” Liam says.

“Why not?”

“It’s better when you put your fingers in me,” Liam says, the words tumbling out thick and nearly slurred. He pulls away enough to fumble for the lube on the nightstand, pressing it into Scott’s hand. His dick’s still aching and hard, curved up against his stomach and his attempts to touch himself are rebuffed by Scott until Liam lets out a frustrated whine and pulls his hands back.

“Scott! Just let me--”

“Here, keep them there,” Scott glances up and pulls one of Liam’s arms so it’s flat on the mattress. “Now the other one. Good.” Before Liam registers it Scott’s fingers are wet with slick and he lets out a contented mm as they press against his hole then slip slowly, inexorably inside. “Tell me why. How does it feel better?” Scott’s polite and gentle like he’s asking what Liam wants in his coffee. Liam shuts his eyes and widens his stance, opening his mouth for a breathless moan to escape as Scott’s fingers press all the way inside, deep, curving, right where he aches to be touched.

“It feels better...like when you’re not inside me I’m empty and when you are I’m so full. Like you’re pressing it out of me when I come and it--nnn, ah--it’s stronger and endless. I can just let it out.”

“Good,” Scott says, pleased with Liam’s answer. His fingers rotate inside and he presses until Liam’s dick jumps and blurts out another string of precome. The pressure builds obscenely sharp, far away but moving closer like a speeding train. Liam’s growing steadily mindless, every sense tuning in to his incoming climax.

“Ah, Scott, it’s so good,” Liam says, rocking down for more desperately, clenching around the thick girth of Scott’s fingers, now three inside him.

“I know baby. I’m gonna make this easy. Just let it take over, okay?” Scott says. Then he’s squeezing Liam’s swollen dick with one hand in long strokes and letting his fingers still inside Liam into a steady, strong press. His orgasm hits so hard Liam’s eyes roll up in his head, eyelids fluttering shut. It goes on and on, pulled out of him with every perfect squeeze up the length of his cock, his balls tightening and pulling up, stripes of come streaking out of him in pulses like he’s being milked dry.

A blank, white nothing engulfs Liam’s mind as visceral and all encompassing as an early morning fog. It’s peaceful for an indeterminate moment that dissipates into Scott’s soft voice bringing him down, his hand petting all down Liam’s side and his voice a familiar thread luring him near.

Liam hums quietly and let’s his hands go slack at the sheets, then pulls at Scott’s wrist to draw him down besides him. Some sort of thanks or apology seems appropriate for the moment but he’s beyond words, and grateful for it even as he realizes his state. Then, he’s asleep.

*

In the early morning Liam wakes with Scott tangled around him, heavy limbs and hot as asphalt under the summer sun along the line of his back. He nudges Scott until he’s sleepily blinking awake then shimmies down and takes care of Scott with his mouth.

Liam pulls off with a slow, final suck when he’s done swallowing around Scott and looks up sheepishly through his lashes.

“I probably left you high and dry last night.”

“Nah. Took care of it when you knocked out.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Scott says. He cards his fingers through Liam’s hair and tugs, “Hey. Thanks, man.”

Liam’s mouth twists in a smile and he lets his forehead rest briefly against the jut of Scott’s hipbone, holding onto the brief moment before he has to let him go. Even an act of intended reciprocity now feels, in a messed up way, like one more thing Liam is taking.

*

“Don’t bother with your shoes,” Scott says on the night of the full moon. Liam’s trainers dangle from his fingers as they wait for the familiar rumble of Stiles’ Jeep. Something’s wrong with the engine, Liam can tell, but he perversely keeps silent. His anger feels hot and heavy in his gut, like he could set it off with the slightest touch, an innocuous spark in a gas filled chamber. The inside of the Jeep when it screeches to a stop and the door whines open smells heavy and bitter with the scent of metal, thick chains and padlocks seated innocuously in the back like a silent fourth passenger.

Scott opens the door for Liam, his hand a firm pressure along the small of Liam’s back.

“Hey there little fella,” Stiles sings out, eyes gleaming in the dark. “You’re gonna sit tight tonight while Daddy and other Daddy map out residential plans.”

“Stiles,” Scott says, warningly.

“Alright, whatever. I don’t get paid for this.”

“Liam,” Scott says, softer so only Liam can hear. The night calls for him, as strong and distinct as the pull he feels towards Scott, or the strength of his rage sparking hot and expanding. He takes a breath and steps inside. Scott shuts the door behind him.


End file.
